


Fly

by one-oh-four (WHF_writes)



Series: FS Universe [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Big Bang Theory, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 14:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHF_writes/pseuds/one-oh-four
Summary: Yuzuru, Evgenia and Co. in a Big Bang Theory Universe. Kind Of.





	Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for months, but I just could not finish it properly. I literally could not.

**FLY**

The first time he saw her, he just got home from work, opening the porch door, and it was after sunset, the sky a medley of indigo, cerulean, purple, red, pink, oranges, and yellow. He saw her crouching in her porch snap snapping in her Digital-SLR on a tripod, the ones that looked like a grenade launcher. The woman must have sensed his eyes on her for she suddenly looked up at him, eyes round, mouth surprised. She recovered quickly, though, for she smiled and waved.

She never left his thoughts alone, then.

((*))

Second time he saw her, she was dancing ballet with a pink Romantic tutu. He watched her for quite some time and as she went past the doors, most likely noticing him, she stumbled back only to look at him.

Without a beat, she smiled at him and waved, like a child receiving her cotton candy at the carnival.

((*))

It was a Thursday and he decided to let the air in his condominium, when he _happened _to glance at the woman’s porch.

Pasted on the glass-double doors is a paper with ‘Hi J’ on it.

Is _he_ the receiver of the greeting? He was not quite sure.

((*))

With an IQ of 185, a multi-published scientist and awards-gathering ‘machine’, one would think he is doing nothing but think about the theories in physics he is trying to prove for years now, but he is sitting on his couch one weekend, trying to solve the enigma that was the woman across his condominium.

She started sending him letters by paper planes: her name’s Evgenia, aged 21, a ballet dancer who lives by her photography skills, came here to live her life that her former Ballet Company constrained her from living.

Last Tuesday, she has sent him a ticket for a play she is starring at; it was Anna Karenina.

What is on his mind is the question continuously buzzing in his head for a fortnight now: why?

He lived in solitude all his life. He simply does not have the time, and the appetite, to be involved in any relations, be it familial, friendly or romantic. He came to consider any relations will be deterrent to his goal which is the Nobel Prize, hence the solitude, hence his inability to read people.

Then the woman came.

He should come up to her and give her a piece of his mind: she has been keeping him from finishing one of his paper on Quantum Mechanics, and he does not know how she kept his concentration diverted from his main goal.

Although he knew it is not _quite _fair to pin the blame on her but then again. It is easier to blame others than himself. He’s too proud for that.

What did she do to make him crave for her smile every time she caught him staring? What did she do that made him even consider to come out of solitary and watch her performance? Is she only being polite?

((*))

For someone living in a sunny state, she wonders why the man is so pale (but she already knew why: he’s somewhat of an academic, based on the clutters of post-its and opened books around his room when she tried to take a photo of him), or maybe he’s just an albino like her. Wonders why he just stares… or why he stares at all. Wonders if he’ll accept the invitation she sent him. She even wonders _why _she sent him one. Like, she took the effort to get _him_ a seat, and she doesn’t even know his name!

At first, she was a little baffled, creeped out, even. That first night, he just stared at her for a few seconds as she continued smiling, and then he turned, going back to what she assumed a portable whiteboard and continued scribbling furiously. He did not even shoot her a smile before going back to his work, which disappointed her, at first.

She could use a friend.

Just last month, she left her original company (and told him so, on one of her paper plane letters), and decided to jump ship, leaving her country, her mom and her grandmother (although not messy like when she left her last Company) and her friends, therefore, leaving her comforts behind.

(It also doesn’t hurt that he looks cute. Hot, even.)

She figures the ticket will be a waste if he did not go. She wonders why she feels disappointed if he did not.

((*))

Three consecutive knocks rose him from his musings.

He headed to the door, his eyebrows clashing, and his glare as sharp as a samurai did.

He opened the door forcefully but stopped short, his face instantly softening.

“Hi,” she started.

The thing about being alone and in semi-solitary is that you become overly sensitive. His senses were tingling with unfamiliar stimuli, and _her _stimuli hit him with a magnitude so strong he wanted to flinch.

_She smells like mimosa flower._

He may have already flinched for all he know, judging by how her face fell for a moment.

“Hi,” he returned a beat too late.

“Hi,” she repeated, her smile widening in what he would call a grimace. “I’m Evgenia.”

Now this is when Yuzuru _should _introduce himself… right?

“I am Yuzuru Hanyu,” he said. He _should _offer a handshake, but his threshold for social conventions is low, so he settled for what he hope is a friendly face.

“Did you—did you get the ticket?” She asked hesitantly. “I—I sent it here,” she says grinning.

“Yeah,” he says. Yuzuru felt like he _should _invite her in. Either way, he stepped back and motioned for her to come in.

Evgenia looked around and was pleasantly surprised to note that Yuzuru’s place is neat, since he’s a man living alone. Well, neat except for the pile of opened books on the coffee table precariously balancing a laptop and the whiteboard where scribbles of what she thought were mathematical equations, although she doesn’t have the slightest idea what it meant.

“You can sit down,” Yuzuru motioned to the leather couch. “Will you have tea, coffee or juice?”

“I’ll have tea, thank you,” she said, settling on the couch. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

‘Oh now she wants to engage in small talks, huh?’ Yuzuru thought.

Social conventions taught him to receive the appreciation so he says, “thanks.”

((*))

He does not know if she feels uncomfortable; he has been watching her fidget with the cup handle, looking at him under her lashes, she has tapped her right foot seven times now, which were the most obvious physical manifestation of discomfort.

Should he say something? He is quite certain he does not know the social protocol in this situation. Therefore, he decided to wait another fifteen minutes for her to state her purpose of visiting him in his abode and continued drinking from his cup of tea.

Evgenia could only describe the situation as awkward. Although she knows—or feels—that she should be the one talking since he’s looking at her with rapt attention and she’s decided to go her way and greet him personally, but she still feels he should be a good host since he invited her in… right?

_Drat! _She thought. _I’m going to talk to him. Now._

“So, what do you do?” she started, putting on a smile. Because she really is interested in him.

“I am a Theoretical Physicist, and I also work as a Professor at the University.”

“Wow,” she voiced before she could stop herself. Her outburst, though, must be a welcome, because she saw him practically glow. “But you look so young.”

“I was into the advanced program, therefore enabling me to attend the University early,” he simply said.

All right, by now, Evgenia should feel put-off by his way of speech, but then again, she still doesn’t know if he’s looking down at her, or if it’s simply just how he talks. He surprised her when he speaks.

“I infer you are a Ballet dancer?”

She tried hard not to laugh. “Yes, I told you that last time.”

“Of course.”

She figures he’s not really good at small talks. She could almost see the cogs in his head trying to salvage the conversation. She have to save the man from himself.

“So I guess you’re one of those beautiful mind guys, huh?” She tried, motioning on the whiteboard with scribbled formulas all over its surface.

_Oh, goodness, is she actually flirting? No, Evgenia! You just met him!_

“… yes?”

_This is not working, is it? _She thought.

“Do you live alone?”

“I am,” he affirmed. “I find it more convenient to live by myself.”

“Oh, I live alone as well,” she says, because looking around the condominium, she could tell it’s costly and exorbitant to other people. “Where did you finish your Degree?”

“In Germany,” he says. “I finished my Master’s and Doctorate Degree there, as well.”

Oh now she feels inferior. She thought he finished a Bachelor’s, she did not know he finished Master’s _and_ a Doctorate Degree as well. She supposes his clipped tone is justified. A little.

“What? How old are you?”

“I am twenty-five,” he shrugged.

“Really? How long have you been teaching?”

“Five years now.”

_Ah, _she thought. _So that is why he’s awkward around people (or is it just me?), he wasn’t taught of basic human interactions because he was always studying._

“Oh, and you said you were twenty-five?”

“I was already in college at age eleven, took my Masters at fourteen and finished it a year later, I finished my Doctorate at eighteen, took some time off to visit Universities as a visiting professor, and I landed this job where I can teach to gain for living expenses but still be supported for my researches.”

He talked fast and as a non-native English speaker, she has to try hard enough to catch up with him.

“Since you’re a ballet dancer, you have to start young as well, right? I could only imagine the pain of your injuries as the years progressed. Are you playing Anna?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out.

“Well, the fact that you’re still young, but already got this starring role must say something.”

“Will you come, then?”

“If you insist.”

((*))

He feels strange.

He could still smell her despite bidding their farewells hours earlier.

((*))

When Evgenia was a child, she always tag along hiking with her mom.

The first time she reached the peak, she cried. She saw the world in a new perspective. The horizon of dense, pure white clouds, all of the sky and its colors, the smell of the woods and the sound of wildlife overwhelms her and she fell in love with the idea of freedom and life.

She took up photography since she wants to capture life at its rawest. She wants to freeze the present so she could look at it in the future and reminisce about the past, revel in the colors of the pictures; fly through the time.

She took up dancing with a renewed vigor; she used to do it to please her mother. She used it to express her need of freedom and the gratitude of having freedom. She becomes too much for her Ballerina of a mother to teach that they signed her to a Company well known in Russia to control her roguish dancing technique.

Along the process of quelling her passion, however, came the feeling of suffocation. Although she now understood the concept of harmony within the group, she could not brush the feeling of constraint.

Accordingly, she left to live and to fly.

((*))

The thing about theatres, they do not illuminate the audience so Evgenia found it hard to look for her guest, leaving her to wonder if he’s taken the seat she reserved for him at all.

Much to her surprise, however, when it was curtain call, she saw him clapping as he stands, looking appreciatively at all of them, but she only have her eyes on him.

((*))

Yuzuru Hanyu have treasured friends. They are people who share the same eccentricities as his, could match—or at least keep up with—his intelligence, and normal enough to teach him the customary social conventions. He voiced his confusion to them one day as they eat supper in his living room.

“Someone visited me here in my abode--” Yuzuru started and a cacophony erupted around him.

“What? Who?” Misha Ge asked the loudest of them all.

“You let the person in?” Shoma Uno asked, and Yuzuru saw his wet front from having spluttered his drink.

“Is it a he or a she?” Boyang Jin added.

“As I was saying before you interrupted my narrative,” Yuzuru started again. “Someone visited me last Tuesday, eighteen thirty-two, here in my dwelling place. Her name is Evgenia,” he ignored the squeak of surprise Shoma produced. “And she imposed upon me to accept her invitation to watch her theatre play, where she will be playing the main female character, Anna Karenina. Although it is quite hard for me to admit, it baffles me.”

“I have some questions,” Boyang started, holding up his greasy fingers from eating fried chicken. “Is she pretty?”

“Look, that’s not the point,” Misha scolded Boyang before turning to Yuzuru. “Yuzu, when you said ‘imposed’ did she really _force _you to go?”

“She went here and asked if I’ll go,” Yuzuru shrugged.

“That does not mean she’s _forcing _you to go, though,” Shoma said.

“Maybe she’s just checking up whether you’ll accept or not,” Misha said. “My second question is: what baffles you?”

“She sent me an invitation. Why is that?”

“She’s got hots on you,” Boyang said, waggling his eyebrows in what Yuzuru supposed as lecherous.

“Why don’t you just accept?” Misha asked.

“I have already accepted before we bid fare well last Tuesd-,” Yuzuru declared.

“You accepted?” Boyang interrupted and Yuzuru glared at him. “We need to meet her. Like, right now.”

Misha looked at his clueless friend fondly. There are things that render him clueless; or to quote his friend, baffled; one of those things is the kind that involve that of emotions. They are a queer group, but Misha believes they just balance each other out. Yuzuru might be the most intelligent man among them, but to be fair, Yuzuru might be the most intelligent man in existence right now, but even Yuzuru could not know it all; Yuzuru needs them to take out the human side not quite understandable for him.

They make him a little bit human. They take every little opportunity to elicit some reactions from him, even if it was anger or frustration.

“It’s a non-optional social convention, Yuzu,” Misha said.

They watched their friend’s face as it cleared.

“Oh,” Yuzuru said.

“Yes,” Shoma affirmed. “While you’re at it, give her a bouquet of flowers and wear something dapper.”

“A female would definitely appreciate it if you make an effort,” Boyang winked.

((*))

Yuzuru could only put his trust on his friends. They instructed him some interesting and highly specific things the last time they were over his residence. They claimed that bringing flowers and wearing a non-plaid navy blue suit will, in Boyang’s words, ‘fit him right in’. Shoma instructed him some very particular points: he should greet Evgenia by kissing her on her wrist as she has accepted the bouquet.

The expression on her face as he did what his friends instructed him to do is that what he supposed to be a surprised amusement.

Yuzuru does not know if it is a good thing or not.

((*))

In the backstage, everything is fast-paced. In a matter of minutes, Evgenia still has not yet recovered from her shock that was Yuzuru Hanyu, and her casting members already hailed her. She looked at Yuzuru, contemplating what to do. It has been a tradition to have a small party with the casts after the first night, but she does not want to bid Yuzuru goodbye.

((*))

“I believe it is customary to have a celebration after a successful opening night.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will leave you to enjoy the festivities. I truly enjoyed the performance.”

“You can join us, it’ll be fun!”

“Some other time, perhaps.”

((*))

Later that evening, as she made some excuses to get off the party earlier, she peaked through her curtains to look at Yuzuru’s curtained porch door, and she wonders how it was possible to feel for a stranger.

((*))

Every time Evgenia suffers an injury, her mother would just hug her soothingly, brush her hair behind her back, and whisper in a very soft voice, ‘persistence pays off’.

Back at home, where she’s an established ballerina, everyone _adored _her. They were speaking nothing but good things about her, she had multiple show appearances weekly, she even got her own show for a while.

All of that died down eventually.

When someone from her own Company replaced her for a role that could _definitely _be the epitome of her successful career when she suffered an injury.

Known was the Company for its steady production rate of girls that are competent globally; therefore, they did not have any problem replacing Evgenia. She stayed at home, making a routine of bedrest, eat, sleep, and she persisted. When the right time came, the routine became physical therapy, rest, sleep, and she persisted. When she got better, the routine became physical therapy, practice, sleep and she persisted. When she finally broke out of the mellow bubble of her rest house’s familiarity, it wasn’t the same for her anymore.

Her ego might be what was speaking, but she felt shunned. They were even more controlling of what she should do, what she should say.

After coming out with the decision of leaving her Company to Orser’s, the media criticized her. Be it they shout at her face asking for the ‘persistence’ she address so much about, telling her she was spineless. However, they really did not know her truly.

Leaving her former Company is her way of persistence. She will do _anything_ to keep performing what she love.

Well, you could just conclude that Evgenia Medvedeva is a persistent woman.

In addition, she believes that if one is going to do something, one should go all the way, or else one should not even start to try.

((*))

She has been giving him breakfast _and _dinner for a full month.

She knocked on his door at exactly zero six hundred thirty, holding out a lunch box, saying she made extra food. Customary social conventions, namely, what his friends have taught him over the years, state that one should invite the other person in, thank them for the food, and invite them to eat with the host.

He does just that.

She surprised him once again when at nineteen hundred hours, she knocked and presented another lunchbox, saying, she ‘enjoyed their meal earlier that she wanted to eat with him more’.

That first night, Yuzuru spent most of the evening researching the cause of his abdominal pains, but nothing came up that is conclusive.

((*))

Given that Evgenia has been associating with him for a month, where she brings home-cooked meals or in some days take-outs or Yuzuru himself take it to himself and cook for both of them, she met his friends.

On the second week of their association, Yuzuru and Evgenia were playing chess on the couch—which surprised him once again, knowing she could play, let alone beat him to it—when his friends arrived for their routinely dinner clamoring about something Yuzuru did not want to know and continued playing, and then they suddenly stopped to their tracks.

Yuzuru looked at them quizzically and saw them look at Evgenia, who was sitting on his couch to his right. Yuzuru has made mention that his friends will be bringing them dinner and she no longer have to prepare for a meal.

“Hello,” Boyang recovered first, setting down the take-outs on the coffee table.

“Hi,” Evgenia replied, looking up from her black chess pieces.

“Hey, you must be Evgenia,” Misha sat down on the love seat. “I’m Misha Ge. We’ve heard so much about you; It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Only good things, I hope?” Evgenia smiled at him before turning to Yuzuru, she did not know he’s talking about her to his friends.

“I’m Shoma Uno,” Shoma stated and continued spreading the take-outs on the table, and disrupting the game of the two. “You’re sitting on my spot, but I can forgive you for that, so I’m just going to sit here, on the floor.”

“I’m Boyang Jin, by the way,” Boyang told her from the edge of the couch. “I’ll take that,” he said, taking the board from the table.

“Yuzu, we brought Stephen Hawking’s lecture. Do you want to put it on?” Misha nonchalantly asked.

“No, I do not think it is appropriate for us to be inconsiderate,” Yuzuru looked at him in confusion.

Shoma snorted a stream of iced tea through his nose and was a coughing mess on the carpeted floor.

“I appreciate it if you do not get the carpet any wetter,” Yuzuru scolded.

“Sorry,” Shoma said, dabbing a napkin on the wet spot on the carpet. “I was just surprised, is all.”

“Why is it inappropriate, Yuzu?”

“We could watch something that Evgenia could enjoy,” Yuzuru shrugged. “While _I _enjoy anything that physics can bring, I don’t think she’ll appreciate it.”

Evgenia decided to let that go over her head. For the time she spent with him, he utters nothing but facts and if he somehow offended her, he did not meant it at all. He really just doesn’t know how to be tact.

“You are Yuzuru’s friends,” Evgenia stated. “I assume you’re geniuses as well?”

“Sure!”

“Compared to most people, they were considered as geniuses, but compared to _me_\--”

“We were still beneath you, we know,” Boyang finished and winked at Evgenia.

“Anyway, we bought Indian Curry, for your abdominal pains.”

“Oh, I appreciate your consideration,” Yuzuru replied.

“You lost me there,” Evgenia said. “What’s with the Curry and abdominal pains?” Evgenia asked before turning to Yuzuru, “Wait, _you _have abdominal pains?”

“The spices in the curry powder serves as a natural laxative, loosening the intestinal muscle, therefore relieving one from constipation,” Yuzuru answered her in a clipped tone she came to associate with him. “To answer your second question, yes, I was having abdominal pains.”

“For a week, right?” Shoma asked.

“That is correct.”

“Does—does my cooking have to do with it?” Evgenia asked him with a quivering voice, for she realized she started bringing him foods she cooked for the time mentioned.

“Although my abdominal pains started on Monday, third of June, nineteen hundred hours, I believe it has nothing to do with anything you have been feeding me, as proof of the days I have been the one to prepare for our meals, and still have stabbing pains in my abdomen,” he assured.

“Yeah, I’m sure even the natural laxative, that is the Curry, will have no effect on his abdominal pains,” Misha shrugged and drank his iced tea, effectively hiding his smirk.

“Yeah,” Shoma sighed. “It would be a very different medicine he would need if he wants to be cured at all.”

“It’s safe to say, Yuzuru, you will be suffering for quite some time,” Boyang said through bites.

((*))

As days, weeks, months go by and they fell into a very easy routine.

They see each other every day, they eat together, they talk about things that they do not even understand but they still listen to each other, they learn about each other every day, and they grew together.

Yuzuru could even stand her casual touches without flinching, and Evgenia could tolerate the physics talk during the boys’ dinner with them, which eventually became frequent.

With all the glory of his eidetic memory, he could not pinpoint the exact time, day, or instance when he accepted the fact that she became a very heavy part of his everyday life.

One day as he wait in his apartment, actually looking forward to breakfast, he became disheartened as zero six hundred thirty passed. Then zero seven hundred. He became worried when the clock read zero seven thirty when she had not shown up.

Stronger pains stabbed his abdomen as he worry. He brushed it off as his discomfort for having disrupted his routines. Nevertheless, he still decided to visit Evgenia on her abode.

“Evgenia,” he called after knocking three times.

“Yuzu,” Evgenia called back with coarse voice. “I’m sick.”

“Usually, in these kinds of situations I would have ran back to my safe dwelling place, but since you are my friend, it is customary that I shall take care of you,” he declared through the closed doors before he fumbles around the door knob and opened the door.

They exchanged emergency keys months before so they, in Evgenia’s words, ‘could come into each other’s aid’.

Lying on the couch was Evgenia, wrapped with thick blanket, looking at Yuzuru with bright, misty eyes.

“I’m sick,” she repeated.

“Yes, you have already made your point.”

“I know you’re a germophobe; you don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

Two days later, Misha Ge received an electronic mail from Yuzuru saying he 'cannot attend work for he is sick’.

((*))

It’s a Tuesday and they were both sitting on the couch, watching Star Trek.

“I don’t understand,” Evgenia started.

“As a Vulcan, Spock expelled all emotions and live by logic and reason alone.”

“Just like you?”

Yuzuru only stared at her.

((*))

The fact is: Yuzuru is an intelligent person. He can correlate almost every effect to the causes almost immediately. He knows the science of it all. Although he could not determine the emotions behind it, he knows that from the start of the world, nature will keep human race survive in longer term.

He saw the signs, but he waved it at first. He saw her smile in what he supposed as _true smile, _with her eyes crinkling and the lower lid upturned, he saw her stand or sit straighter as he walked in wherever she was, her feet pointing toward him, her body always almost facing him or their shoulders aligned. He notices her move when he moves, her lingering touches, and most importantly, her eyes.

Evgenia have dark brown eyes. He could almost not see her pupils, but when light hit them in the right angle and if she was looking at him at the time, they dilate as she looks at him.

He could blame science for it all, but he is starting to understand the cause of his abdominal pains, and the pleasant sensations he feels in her presence.

He could feel the start of a paradigm shift in their relationship.

(Which confound him even more. He is not used to _feeling._)

((*))


End file.
